Swish Swish Lullabye
Swish swish goes the mop across the floor, wiping away a few days worth of dirt, the many tracks of a busy life. The mop moves in time with my breathing, hypnotic as my arms pump back and forth. It makes me think.
Sometimes I wonder why I'm doing this, especially on days like today. Cleaning floors that are never all the way clean, wiping nose that never stop running, laundry that breeds while I'm not looking, cooking for bellies that will be hungry again soon. Why did I give up that job in high finance {read bank teller job} for this? At least, at the bank, when someone made me angry it didn't make my eyes bulge out. I might have wanted to yell at those people, from time to time, but I never actually did yell. And at the end of the day I was done, walk away, hands clean, until the next day when it would start fresh. This Mommy job is a whole lot dirtier, and angrier, and louder, and it never stops.
Swish swish goes the mop across the floor, and now Carly adds her own sound effects to the mix. LA! She sings from her perch atop the kitchen bar stool. It's a pleasant sweet sound, little girl voice with a hint of spunk and a dollop of drama.
I wonder why I embraced solitude, why I was so eager to become my own little island surrounded by a sea of domesticity. In many ways it is lonely to be this Mother creature. Sure, there is creative conversation all day long. But, it's hard - at times - to give myself over to the complete fairy tale of childhood. I am not particularly interested in all the facets of dress up, pretend, chase, tag, hide and go seek, and cartoons. I've grown up, you see.
Swish swish LA! The floor is shiny clean and I can see the outlines of tiny toes where Carly walked across the dewy surface. {I can see the larger prints where I stepped too.} I admire the little prints as I mop them away. There is something magical about the shape of those tiny feet, those little toe marks on the wet floor.
And I remember why it's good. It really has nothing to do with extra hugs or gooey kisses - you get those either way. It's more about the thrill of being there when my son opens the door at the end of his day. It's about being the first face he sees when he walks in. It's about the tumbling sound of the dryer while Carly sleeps upstairs. It's about seeing the firsts and cataloging them into my memory. It's about embracing this season in my life, adapting to it, and eventually out-growing it too. At least for me.
Swish swish LA!
All clean.
Sometimes I wonder why I'm doing this, especially on days like today. Cleaning floors that are never all the way clean, wiping nose that never stop running, laundry that breeds while I'm not looking, cooking for bellies that will be hungry again soon. Why did I give up that job in high finance {read bank teller job} for this? At least, at the bank, when someone made me angry it didn't make my eyes bulge out. I might have wanted to yell at those people, from time to time, but I never actually did yell. And at the end of the day I was done, walk away, hands clean, until the next day when it would start fresh. This Mommy job is a whole lot dirtier, and angrier, and louder, and it never stops.
Swish swish goes the mop across the floor, and now Carly adds her own sound effects to the mix. LA! She sings from her perch atop the kitchen bar stool. It's a pleasant sweet sound, little girl voice with a hint of spunk and a dollop of drama.
I wonder why I embraced solitude, why I was so eager to become my own little island surrounded by a sea of domesticity. In many ways it is lonely to be this Mother creature. Sure, there is creative conversation all day long. But, it's hard - at times - to give myself over to the complete fairy tale of childhood. I am not particularly interested in all the facets of dress up, pretend, chase, tag, hide and go seek, and cartoons. I've grown up, you see.
Swish swish LA! The floor is shiny clean and I can see the outlines of tiny toes where Carly walked across the dewy surface. {I can see the larger prints where I stepped too.} I admire the little prints as I mop them away. There is something magical about the shape of those tiny feet, those little toe marks on the wet floor.
And I remember why it's good. It really has nothing to do with extra hugs or gooey kisses - you get those either way. It's more about the thrill of being there when my son opens the door at the end of his day. It's about being the first face he sees when he walks in. It's about the tumbling sound of the dryer while Carly sleeps upstairs. It's about seeing the firsts and cataloging them into my memory. It's about embracing this season in my life, adapting to it, and eventually out-growing it too. At least for me.
Swish swish LA!
All clean.
Comments